#Giorgio Mistretta

[aheathen-conceivably]

Part of Zelda loved the last few years of their lives. At its simplest, it reminded her of being in England again, of standing in the fields with her father and making every recipe from scratch with her mother. Life felt warmer here than it had in New Orleans, calmer and quieter and more akin to something she had envisioned for herself. 

Of course there was pain as well, backbreaking constant pain and endless drudgery. Sometimes it reminded her of how much she liked standing in a crowded cafe or club and feeling everyone’s energy come together in one tumultuous surge. Compared to that, it often felt like she had only known two extremes in her life, and she had swung between the two without ever really finding herself in the middle. 

Then there was the desperation, constantly turning and monitoring the soil, adding any and every shell or skin she could spare, and hauling countless buckets of water from the nearby stream. It was knowing that living or dying fell upon your back and the roof over everyone’s heads relied on your efforts. But in doing so it sometimes felt like a spirit overtook one, one that actually understood her purpose and called her Little Robin on even his darkest days.

Only recently the desperation had taken on a new tone, one independent of Gio’s debts or her child’s hunger. One that even her father wouldn’t have understood. It was her burden, and her burden alone, seen and shared by Antoine but really only felt by her. Because she could till this soil; she could monitor it and will the crops to grow as though through sheer willpower and knowledge alone. Only she couldn’t do the same for herself. 

Because at least this seemingly barren soil was growing something. There was life and hope in it, fully grown plants and crops on the edge of being harvested. She had poured her soul into it, and it had responded in turn. She needed them to grow, not only for the reasons everyone else did, but because she couldn’t seem to grow anything within herself.

She was walking the fields, picking away dead leaves and checking under each one for bugs when she saw it: a sapphire glittering amidst the greenery in the ever-present sunshine. She reached forward slowly, moving each leaf aside hesitantly as though half expecting to look down and see yet another dashed hope that had existed only for a moment.

But then she bent down into the soil and it was real: a perfectly grown ear of corn. Untouched by bugs or drought or heat. She had done it. It had grown. In an inaudible whisper she called out to Gio across the farmyard. Realizing that he was probably preoccupied still trying to dig out their well she called out again, and again, until her amazed voice finally rose to an audible volume.

He rounded the fence, his eyes filled with apprehension that another bud had been eaten in the night or the leaves inexplicably wilting. Instead he saw Zelda standing there, an ear of corn in her hand and a smile on her face. 

He immediately threw his shovel into the dirt and ran toward her, “We did it, Zelda! We really fucking did it!” For a moment he just held her in shared amazement, and Zelda could swear that he was going to cry. All of his emotions poured out onto her so that she could feel he had no way to contain his gratitude, until he picked her up and swung her amidst the tall verdant plants growing all around them, “Jesus Christ who am I kidding, you did it! This farm…it, I was nothing until you got here, until you made all this happen!”

Zelda let herself be swept off her feet, lost in his characteristically infectious joy. Because he didn’t know why she had worked so hard on these fields, or that she often walked the rows thinking of them in relation to herself. He only knew she had given him something, everything he seemed to dream of in that moment, and that together they had actually done it. They had made life grow from nothing.

Across the farmyard, Josephine watched them, and a small fire started in her heart. With a jolt she realized that this was what jealousy must feel like. She had never given a fuck about who Gio or any of her partners had danced or laughed or flirted with, so long as she knew and they didn’t use it against her when the time came. But it couldn’t be, not here, not now. Not her. 

This was Zelda. Her best friend, her sister. They worked and lived there together day in and day out, but then he set her on the ground and her laughter rang out through the farmyard, and Josephine realized that it was her. It was the joy she and Gio shared over a goddamn ear of corn. One single ear of corn. It was as infuriating as all of life was here, because it didn’t feel like living at all. It felt like a constant game of survival that transformed your life into a series of meaningless tasks without purpose or delineation rather than something that was actually yours to live.

Because life here wasn’t simpler for Josephine the way it was for Zelda. There was nothing nostalgic or calming about it. No sound of her father’s voice to guide her through the pain or personal drive tying her to the constant, backbreaking work. She tried, every goddamn day she tried, just like she promised Giorgio and herself that she would; but it felt like the land itself was draining her soul bit by bit.

Yet here was Zelda, who seemed like some sort of old world fertility goddess standing amongst the plants she had grown from soil that wouldn’t yield for anyone else. For years, she had done nothing but give and give as she worked alongside Giorgio to make his damn dream come true, all the while thoughts of running away continued to plague Josephine in the night. Zelda had poured her soul into the desolate land to make it grow. Josephine dreamed of setting it on fire. 

Jesus, she didn’t want to. She wanted to fall onto the orange sands of Strangerville and somehow sprout into the perfect farm wife too. That’s why she was jealous. She wanted to be that happy when a single goddamn ear of corn had grown, to share in the simple joy of the man she loved over something she couldn’t help but find infuriating. It seemed like he was happy because he had someone to share that joy with now, someone who could make his dreams come true and give him all of herself so totally. It made her think that maybe the problem was her; she had simply not given enough of herself to be happy. But she didn’t quite know how.

#1932 #sims 4 historical #ts4 decades challenge #ts4 historical #sims 4 decades challenge #the darlingtons #sims 4 legacy #ts4 legacy #sims 4 story #ts4 story #1930s #Zelda darlington #Josephine Duplanchier #Giorgio Mistretta

[personal-reporter]

Termini Book Festival 2023

Dopo il successo delle prime tre edizioni, dal 15 al 17 settembre a Termini Imerese presso la Terrazza al Belvedere, Cortile Maltese, torna il Termini Book Festival, ideato dallo scrittore termitano Giorgio Lupo e organizzato  dall’associazione culturale Termini Book Festival di cui è presidente il medico Fabrizio Melfa. Il Festival quest’anno avrà come tema Parole scritte, semi di meraviglia, i romanzi saranno sia di genere giallo che mainstream, e si alterneranno sia autori affermati che autori emergenti. Tra gli autori ci saranno Diego Lama, giornalista, scrittore e  vincitore del Premio Tedeschi, che presenterà La collera di Napoli (Mondadori); la scrittrice Sarah I. Belmonte, vincitrice nel 2017 del premio Fai viaggiare la tua storia, ha collaborato con registi indipendenti quali De Luca e Aiello, presenterà il romanzo La musa scarlatta (Rizzoli).  Enrico Luceri, vincitore del Premio Tedeschi, e autore di oltre trenta romanzi La stanza del silenzio (Frilli editore),  Claudia Cocuzza, caporedattrice per Writers Magazine Italia, redattrice per ThrillerNord e vincitrice del Garfagnana in giallo 2022, sezione romanzi inediti , farà conoscere il suo libro La partita di Monopoli (Bacchilega Editore) e Valerio Marra, laureato in criminologia, agente letterario ed editor, presenterà invece il suo libro Una notte buia di settembre (Newton Compton). Si susseguiranno Mario Mattia, geofisico presso l’Osservatorio Etneo dell’Istituto Nazionale di Geofisica e Vulcanologia e autore de L’ultima ombra d’estate (Piemme); Mattia Corrente, scrittore e vincitore del Premio letterario Città di Erice 2023 e del Premio Parco Majella Narrativa 2023 con il romanzo La fuga di Anna (Sellerio); Roberto Mistretta, vincitore del Premio Tedeschi e collaboratore del quotidiano La Sicilia e di riviste culturali, che presenterà il libro Rosario Livatino. L’uomo, il giudice, il credente (Edizioni Paoline),  dialogando con la professoressa Maria Falcone e l’antologia Accura (Mursia) di cui è il curatore, dialogando con alcuni coautori della raccolta e Franco Forte, direttore editoriale delle collane da edicola Mondadori, tra cui Il Giallo Mondadori, Urania e Segretissimo, editor degli Oscar Mondadori e sceneggiatore, sarà presente con il suo ultimo libro Karolus. Il romanzo di Carlo Magno (Mondadori) e premierà inoltre il vincitore del Premio Termini Book Festival. Gli incontri della kermesse letteraria verranno moderati da Salvatore Calamera, Daniele Scrofani, Valerio Marra, Rosalba Costanza, Alosha, Alberto Masi, Pietro Esposto, Roberto Tedesco, Roberto Chifari, Giacomo Sperandeo, Davide Parlato e Antonina Nocera che si avvarranno delle letture degli attori di teatro Ignazio Marchese e Patrizia Graziano. Durante la serata conclusiva del Festival, condotta dalla conduttrice Tv e Radio Eliana Chiavetta, sarà assegnato il Premio Termini Book Festival, organizzato in collaborazione con Il Giallo Mondadori. Il Termini Book Festival si connota anche per la contaminazione di diverse forme artistiche, ad esempio palco Raffaele Spidalieri porterà il suo recente “Il segno dell’acqua”, l’album uscito a fine deel 2022 in digitale e più di recente in vinile, con alcuni componenti de La Minima Orchestra Filosofale, ovvero Mauro Grossi al pianoforte e tastiere e Luca Ravagni fiato e synth. Da sempre, uno degli obiettivi del Festival è quello di diffondere la cultura del libro, infatti due degli incontri di questa quarta edizione verranno moderati dagli studenti del Liceo Classico Gregorio Ugdulena e del Liceo Scientifico Nicolò Palmeri. Il Termini Book Festival sarà anche un occasione di incontro per le Biblioteche della provincia di Palermo, all’interno del laboratorio ideato dal sociologo Pietro Piro: fondatore della Biblioteca Veni Creator Spiritus e ospitato presso la storica Biblioteca Liciniana di Termini Imerese. Read the full article

[italianaradio]

Avviso pubblico, 2019 anno con più scioglimenti di Comuni per mafia

Nuovo post su italianaradio https://www.italianaradio.it/index.php/avviso-pubblico-2019-anno-con-piu-scioglimenti-di-comuni-per-mafia/

Avviso pubblico, 2019 anno con più scioglimenti di Comuni per mafia

Avviso pubblico, 2019 anno con più scioglimenti di Comuni per mafia

Sono stati 21 gli enti locali sciolti per mafia, 26, invece, i decreti di proroga di precedenti scioglimenti. Sono i dati relativi agli Enti sciolti per mafia nel 2019 nel report di Avviso pubblico, per cui l’anno appena concluso può essere considerato l’anno peggiore. Gli enti la cui gestione amministrativa, durante il 2019, è stata affidata ad una commissione straordinaria sono quelli di: Careri (Reggio Calabria; sciolto una prima volta nel 2012), Pachino (Siracusa), San Cataldo (Caltanissetta), Mistretta (Messina), Palizzi (Reggio Calabria), Stilo (Reggio Calabria), Arzano (Napoli; al terzo scioglimento, dopo quelli del 2008 e del 2015), San Cipirello (Palermo), Sinopoli (Reggio Calabria; già sciolto nel 1997), Torretta (Palermo; sottoposto a scioglimento nel 2005; archiviato nel 2014), Misterbianco (Catania; già tra i primi enti sciolti nel 1991), Cerignola (Foggia), Manfredonia (Foggia), Orta di Atella (Caserta; al secondo scioglimento, dopo quello del 2008), Africo (Reggio Calabria; giunto al terzo provvedimento dissolutorio, dopo quelli del 2003, successivamente annullato, e del 2014), Carmiano (Lecce), Mezzojuso (Palermo), San Giorgio Morgeto (Reggio Calabria), Scanzano Jonico (Matera), dell’Azienda sanitaria provinciale di Reggio Calabria (sciolta anche nel 2008) e dell’Azienda sanitaria provinciale di Catanzaro. La maggior parte delle amministrazioni sciolte sono state registrate nel Meridione. Otto in Calabria, 7 in Sicilia, 3 in Puglia, 2 in Campania e 1 in Basilicata (vedi grafico 2).

Sono stati 21 gli enti locali sciolti per mafia, 26, invece, i decreti di proroga di precedenti scioglimenti. Sono i dati relativi agli Enti sciolti per mafia nel 2019 nel report di Avviso pubblico, per cui l’anno appena concluso può essere considerato l’anno peggiore. Gli enti la cui gestione amministrativa, durante il 2019, è stata affidata ad una commissione straordinaria sono quelli di: Careri (Reggio Calabria; sciolto una prima volta nel 2012), Pachino (Siracusa), San Cataldo (Caltanissetta), Mistretta (Messina), Palizzi (Reggio Calabria), Stilo (Reggio Calabria), Arzano (Napoli; al terzo scioglimento, dopo quelli del 2008 e del 2015), San Cipirello (Palermo), Sinopoli (Reggio Calabria; già sciolto nel 1997), Torretta (Palermo; sottoposto a scioglimento nel 2005; archiviato nel 2014), Misterbianco (Catania; già tra i primi enti sciolti nel 1991), Cerignola (Foggia), Manfredonia (Foggia), Orta di Atella (Caserta; al secondo scioglimento, dopo quello del 2008), Africo (Reggio Calabria; giunto al terzo provvedimento dissolutorio, dopo quelli del 2003, successivamente annullato, e del 2014), Carmiano (Lecce), Mezzojuso (Palermo), San Giorgio Morgeto (Reggio Calabria), Scanzano Jonico (Matera), dell’Azienda sanitaria provinciale di Reggio Calabria (sciolta anche nel 2008) e dell’Azienda sanitaria provinciale di Catanzaro. La maggior parte delle amministrazioni sciolte sono state registrate nel Meridione. Otto in Calabria, 7 in Sicilia, 3 in Puglia, 2 in Campania e 1 in Basilicata (vedi grafico 2).

#In Calabria

[aheathen-conceivably]

🎶 I gave him my heart, but he wanted my soul 🎶

It was just after sunrise and Josephine was in the kitchen, a sunbeam warming her hands as they worked. She had woken early to take care of the chickens. Their tiny, prehistoric beaks and beady eyes still repulsed her, but at least it was easier than tilling soil or scrubbing clothes. 

Over and over again she folded the dough that Zelda had taught her how to make. A perfectly baked loaf already sat before her as she worked on another. My mother’s recipe, Zelda had said nostalgically as she recited it from the depths of her memory. These years with Zelda had been full of moments like that, ones where you could practically feel the domestic warmth radiating from her memories as she spoke of them.

A small, bitter laugh escaped Jo's lips. For all she may still love her mother, the closest thing Delphine ever had to a recipe was how to bat your eyelashes to earn enough money to pay someone else to make your bread. Josephine had thought that if only she could learn how to make it herself now, that she would finally be free of that, of her mother’s overbearing jasmine perfume and the inherent message that the only way to free yourself from a man’s grasp was through his touch.

Jo was taken aback by a pair of arms as they wrapped around her waist. Lost in the smell of jasmine perfume, she didn’t recognize them at first. She left her hands busy on the dough as she felt the lips trail over her silk blouse, along her neck, and to the base of her skull. He brought his cheek to hers and she tried not to pull away.

By then she knew who he was, not some figment of her past or her mother’s design. He was a man she loved, one who had made her feel more free than anyone else ever had. One who’s arms felt safer and happier than any of those memories. Only she hated the scruffy feeling of his face now, unshaven as it was most of the time and plastered with an expression that seemed to trigger all her anxiety for a reason she couldn't quite explain. “Good morning, mi raccomando. Is that what I think it is?"

“Bread, Gio. The same as always.” But really, she wanted to pick it up and throw it across the room, I did it! I fucking did it just like I told you I would. I tried and tried until I succeeded and still I’m unhappy. Still I feel trapped!

She spun around to face him and his eyes had the same expression as the first time she walked in this house. Happiness. It was the one that she avoided when she could, the same one that made her feel like her feet were glued to the spot and she had no choice whether she wanted to stay or leave.

Because it was sheer happiness that she was there; that he could wake and find her so near. A simple joy that the bread she was making was for him, and he would wake up to a house warmed and filled with the smells of clean laundry before he even put on his work clothes. Then in the farmyard it was knowing that he could come inside to see the woman he loved whenever he pleased, that she was there for him and only him.

It made her want to slap him, and she only knew one way of dealing with that.

So she moved back toward the table, wrapping her arm around his neck in a signal he understood immediately. He lifted her legs and moved the bread aside, small specks of flour rising into the air and staying suspended there for a moment, settling back down around her thighs as he started to kiss her.

She could swear that she smelled jasmine perfume in the air, but it was only bread. The ever present smell of bread and domestic subservience. Stop thinking about the fucking bread. Don’t think about the truck in the driveway, or how deeply he sleeps. Don’t think about how far you could drive before anyone would even know you were gone. Just run. Run away.

Only it wasn’t working, no matter how tightly she closed her eyes or grabbed his hair. Just run. You’re trapped here too. The same way you were there. With every thought the raging restlessness clawed its way back up her throat, mingling there with the bitter taste that this was her life now.

For so long, this had been enough, and the smell of jasmine perfume in the air was gone when he was near. At least for a little while. Only then it appeared again, whenever the chickens screeched at sunrise or she saw that look in his eyes. So what do you want to be then, my child? Some glorified maid for a man? Like that’s any life either.

When had she said yes to this life? She had denied his proposals a dozen times, only to end up here at his beck and call anyway, a farm wife in practice if not in name. Forever, mi raccomando. This is forever. The louder her thoughts became the more tightly she closed her eyes, only it wasn’t working anymore. Not at all. Her last bastion of control, the one place she could free herself from her past and her anxieties, now it all just smelled like jasmine perfume and some man she had never wanted, bringing with him the feeling of entrapment in the guise of freedom.

Josephine pushed him away with more force than she intended to. Her eyes were full of hatred for someone else’s touch, one far less kind and attentive than this one. The moment the smell of jasmine cleared from her head, she realized who was actually in front of her: a man who immediately saw the discomfort his hands were bringing and stepped back accordingly, giving her space to gather herself and her surroundings. Then he kept his head bowed and looked back at her in apology, no stranger to when she reacted this way or why that was. 

Only it was easier for him to think that was the extent of it, because neither of them really understood that the smell of jasmine perfume and fresh bread were all the same to her, and that sooner or later the heady scent in the air would make her snap regardless of which one it was. “Not - not now. That’s all it is. I’m tired. The chickens woke me again.”

He seemed to sense there was something beyond what he already knew; but her eyes stayed glassy, focused on locking away every thought she had so deeply that even if he wanted to see her unhappiness, she wouldn’t let him. When he brought his hands to her shoulders she was sure not to pull away again. “Okay, mi raccomando. I love you. I’m right outside if you need me.”

As he looked back at her, there was a small beat. A brief pregnant moment he left just for her. I love you too, but I’m unhappy. Maybe saying it would have been easy, but it was pointless. 

Antoine, Zelda, Violette. Gio. Each and every one of them was happy. What good would her words do? Ruin everyone else’s small sanctuary amidst a world in ruins? Force them to overturn their peace for an aimless restlessness she couldn't really explain, and maybe could never even mend? No, they were happy. All of them, and Gio had seemingly done nothing to deserve this.

It was simply easier to think that the problem was her, and her alone. Maybe her mother had broken her, and ruined her ability to let herself go to anyone else's desires. Maybe this was being happy, and her whole life all she had known before was excitement, not happiness. She couldn’t ruin it for all of them when she couldn’t even explain it, much less when none of them could be blamed either. She was trapped by guilt and love all the same as she had been by duty and need.

So she turned back around and acted as though she were redirecting her attention to the bread. The bitterness in her throat and the rising smell of jasmine in the air tried to choke back her words, “I love you too, Gio.”

Mollified, he walked back out the door.

#1933 #sims 4 historical #ts4 decades challenge #ts4 historical #sims 4 decades challenge #the darlingtons #sims 4 legacy #ts4 legacy #sims 4 story #ts4 story #1930s #Josephine Duplanchier #Giorgio Mistretta

[aheathen-conceivably]

A new year began with fresh crops sown into the dry ground of Strangerville. After months of irrigation and soil monitoring, Zelda had expected this harvest to spring to life much more easily than the first. Only compared to the dark ground of England, which had always seemed to come back to life after the spring rain, life here seemed utterly unwilling to offer any help to the people struggling to get by, even as their next batch of crops sprung tenuously from the ground.

As she worked on them day after day, Zelda tried to listen for her father’s voice as she once did, only the cacophony coming from her own mind just kept growing louder. It’s barren. The soil is barren. Just stop trying, there’s no point. Just give up. But she couldn’t. Not for herself or Gio or her family. She had to keep tilling, even if every movement was heavier than the last. Each month as the small plants struggled to grow again, the voice grew louder, until it was hard to remember what all this work was for or that she had succeeded once before.

Zelda bent down into the compacted sand, reaching for a weed as she tried to throw herself into the work and quiet her mind. But the dry brown leaves were so unlike the verdant green stems of months before that the voice in her mind grew even more desperate. Just because it happened once doesn’t mean it’s going to happen again. Sometimes that’s all it has to give. Sometimes there’s nothing left. Just give up.

A voice calling her name somewhere from the driveway tried to break through her reveries, but she was lost in the rocky soil as it ran through her fingers back over the dry plants, Just give up. Isn’t she enough? He loves her. You love her. Just give up, be happy. 

“Zelda!” She lifted her eyes to see Gio at the fence, a large smile on his face as he waved his hands excitedly. She stood and brushed the soil from her hands but not the thoughts from her mind as she moved to follow him across the yard.

His steps were filled with purpose and vigor as he walked through the farmyard, calling out to Jo as he passed the house. She emerged with tired, disinterested eyes just as he reached the bed of his truck, lifting up a wooden box he had there and parading it through the farmyard proudly.

Under the watchful eyes of two exhausted woman, he set the crate down onto the ground as though it were more precious than gold. Moments later two hens walked out into the orange sand, their white feathers gleaming against it brightly. Zelda gasped and clapped her hands, the sheer sight of hope quieting her mind temporarily. But from the shadowed safety of the porch, Jo looked down at their devilish eyes and murderous claws with disdain, “A chicken, Gio? Where in the hell did that come from?”

Gio was seemingly unaffected by her aversion, “Chickens, Jo, chickens! I mean hell, we’ve lucked out now, you know that? I was down at the feed store, when I got to talking to a family who’s about to head West on the route. They were worried about takin’ them since they couldn’t feed ‘em but it’s not like killin’ them woulda done any good either. Then I remembered all those jars and preserves the both of you made…”

As he went on it about how he had negotiated both of the chickens in exchange for bushels of dried corn and jarred peppers, it became clearer to Jo what a victory this was not only for them, but for him. He had brought this home like a prize won for them, a small contribution to give their lives ease. She felt her hatred of the hideous creatures begin to shift in favor of love for him, only for him to look back at Zelda and then at her, “But none of it would have been possible without either of you and all your work.”

What was left of her desire to walk away and ignore the sight before her melted at the gratitude in his voice, and she finally left the recess of the porch to walk to him. For a moment she looked up at him, forgetting that Zelda was there as she let him wait for some form of praise from her. Then a small smirk broke through her unreadable expression and she pointed over his shoulder, “I do adore them, so long as I’m not the one to tend to their beady little eyes.”

Gio responded with a wide smile, and for a moment Zelda was distracted by the way they looked at one another as they laughed, so familiar and laden with meaning that it made her wistful; but then the glimmer of white feathers caught her eye yet again. The chickens pecking at the dry ground didn’t look like prehistoric horrors to her. They looked like hope, like her mother’s prized flock or mornings without hunger. Maybe even birthday cakes for her daughter.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Violette herself, who stormed out of the house like a tornado at the first whiff of novel hubbub outside her window. She saw the chickens walking in the sand and gasped, excited by their quick movements and new presence. “Are they ours, Momma? Can I play with them?”

Before Zelda could say a word Violette ran forward, as unafraid as any farm child but without any of the knowledge that Zelda and her siblings had possessed in their youth. Zelda felt the paralyzing wave of anxiety that she always did when she was meant to discipline Violette. She needed to tell her to stop, to show her how to handle the chickens properly and not to be so dangerously brash. Only she couldn’t seem to find the words, and part of her knew that even if she did, Violette would ignore them anyway.

But before she could even take a step, Jo was in Violette’s path. Whatever aversion she had for the small creatures moments before was now gone as she stepped between them and the brash child threatening to pick them up and be scratched bloody by their overexcited claws. Violette looked around her aunt’s legs wondering if she could make a run for it, but Josephine’s stern glare was enough to stop her from even trying.

Zelda watched them as Jo shut down all of Violette’s attempts to bargain with her, the same coy looks and innocent smiles that worked on her father and she didn’t even bother using on her mother. Finally, defeated, Violette let Josephine grab her hand to guide her after the chickens to watch them from a distance. Before they walked away, Josephine looked back to Zelda as though to say, I’ve got her. Don’t worry.

Zelda returned her wordless reassurance with a grateful smile, one less fear on her mind as the lifeless soil called. Because she had to keep trying, just as much for herself as everyone else. Only it was a bit easier now knowing that Jo was there, that she wasn’t alone in raising Violette and that both of them were in this life trying in their own way. Even if they didn’t fully understand exactly what the other was struggling toward, at least they had that.

#1933 #sims 4 historical #ts4 decades challenge #ts4 historical #sims 4 decades challenge #the darlingtons #sims 4 legacy #ts4 legacy #sims 4 story #ts4 story #1930s #Zelda darlington #Josephine Duplanchier #Giorgio Mistretta #Violette darlington

[aheathen-conceivably]

As the weeks went by it became harder for Violette to ignore the struggle around her. Her mother and father worked more each day, and she finally began to put a word to the struggle she had seen on their faces. Hunger. It was guttural, relentless, a pain in her stomach that felt hollow but somehow large enough to consume her. It grew and grew until it expanded beyond her stomach into her whole being; it became part of her, a crude hunger mixed with childish dreams that she would never be able to shake, even at her happiest. 

She knew that if she went downstairs she would find nothing but dried beans, as always. She missed the full cabinets of their kitchen in New Orleans and the okra gumbo her Tante Marguerite would deliver every Sunday. She missed her father, and the fleeting perfect moments she had with him. His absence seemed to stretch out longer each day until all she could think about was her hunger. 

So to pass the hours she began dancing in the mirror, practicing the steps he had taught her and imagining that she was somewhere else, somewhere he wouldn’t have to struggle to make her mother happy. Somewhere hunger didn’t exist. She danced until her stomach growled again and it became harder to move, harder to wait for him until finally she went in search of someone, anyone, so that she wouldn’t have to wait alone.

She went out to the field, where her mother and uncle Gio were always working. The tall dead stalks had been replaced by small sprouts, seemingly barely clinging to life. As soon as she saw her daughter, Zelda tore her attention away from the soil and went to her, bending down to her level to ask why she had come looking for them. Without missing a beat Violette told her mother what had brought her out of the room: she was hungry.

A clear and vivid pain crossed Zelda’s expression and she pushed a growing curl out of Violette’s eyes, “We’re working as hard as we can, my love. See there, those little sprouts? Those are all vegetables that we’ll be able to eat. But I’ll be inside to cook what we have soon, okay? Then your Poppa will be home with good news today, I’m sure of it.”

Violette stared down at the ground, answering her mother’s heartfelt answer with silence. As she tried to lift her daughter’s face to look at her own, Violette finally spoke without looking at her, “Can you come inside to play with me now, Momma? Or can I go find Aunt Jo?”

Zelda turned toward Gio, who had walked closer at the sound of Jo’s name; he answered her silent question with a quick shake of his head. Violette looked toward him and caught an expression she had never seen before. It was full of pain just like her father's could be, only his held a sort of guilt that told her it was his fault: his fault that the more she saw of him the less she saw if her aunt Jo, his fault that her Poppa left everyday and came home defeated. It was his fault that she was hungry. She wanted to yell at him, to tell her mother not to trust him, to run all the way back to New Orleans.

Instead her mother's grip tightened on her arm, “You know your Aunt Jo has been tired lately. She’ll be alright soon enough though, okay? Why don’t you go back inside? I’ll be there in a minute to cook. You can help and we’ll spend the afternoon together like always, I promise.”

Violette looked at her mother, a growing anger in her expression as she acquiesced to the brush off. As she turned away she stole one final glance at the door of the cottage, where she knew her aunt Jo had been locked away for months.

#1930 #sims 4 historical #ts4 historical #ts4 decades challenge #sims 4 decades challenge #the darlingtons #sims 4 legacy #ts4 legacy #sims 4 story #ts4 story #1930s #Violette darlington #Zelda darlington #Giorgio Mistretta

[aheathen-conceivably]

It had felt surreal to make up her face and feel the thick fabric of a party dress on her skin. Then even more surreal to actually leave her room, get into Giorgio’s truck and drive out to the mesa to meet a family of strangers. The world seemed to blur and tunnel into a stream of noise as they walked through the ranch toward the smiling faces waiting to greet them.

On unsteady heels she stood behind her brother, Zelda, and Violette, leaning onto Gio’s arm as they introduced themselves: Abraham Hines, third generation rancher and Antoine’s new employer; Jessamine Hines, Abraham’s grandmother and lifelong resident of Strangerville; Mabel Hines, local cook and native of Chicago; and then finally, their children Adeline, William, and Lillie Mae Hines.

As they proceeded with the awkward machinations of first time introductions, Josephine smiled in the background. With envy she thought back to all the moments she had been able to bring a group together with a witty retort and a laugh. Instead she stayed quiet as they got acquainted, their comfort with one another growing with every word, until finally the child who had introduced himself as William went to Violette in a stream of happy chatter.

Although she looked up toward her parents quizzically, unsure of how exactly to interact with anyone her own age, his movement and the subsequent giggles that rippled amongst them seemed to finally bring the party together. Smiling and chatting, they retreated inside for dinner. The children walked off first, Violette’s reservations still palpable, and then Zelda, Jessamine, and Mabel as they engaged in easy conversation on the state of the schoolhouse as Antoine and Abraham chuckled together quietly at the success of their plans.

Even as their voices disappeared behind the wooden walls, Jo’s feet remained firmly planted on the desert sand. Take a breath, Josephine. Go inside. Speak like you used to. You know how to do this, you must. For Violette.

Yet her legs seemed unwilling to move, to fall in line and follow everyone else. She wanted to turn and run, to throw her red heels into a valley and disappear amongst the orange rocks. Maybe no one would find her out there. Maybe Violette would be fine with her mother and father; maybe these new friends were all any of them needed. Maybe they didn’t need her, maybe she could disappear, she could run….

But then Gio turned around, his eyes soft and worried as he searched her face and read her thoughts. He extended his hand and whispered words of reassurance that he’d be with her every step of the way, ready to start up the truck and run with her if she needed to. His hand on her shoulder seemingly held her in place as the buzzards circled and the desert called. Run, Josephine. Run. Run before it’s too late. But he lifted her face to his and nodded, pulling her toward the house and away from the desert.

Throughout dinner the merriment of the table seemed to come from the other side of a glass, the rich and abundant food a memory from her past and not a current reality. Through it all she told herself that she was doing it for Violette. She was smiling and speaking and simply existing for Violette. She couldn’t have said at what point in the night that determination began to shift in favor of herself or when the words and the faces moved past the glass and into her reality, enriching her soul rather than draining it.

Maybe it was Giorgio’s constant attentive gaze, or Violette’s growing smile and dwindling fear, or perhaps it was just being surrounded by laughing strangers again, buoying her from herself and the empty space she had found in the silent room. But little by little Josephine found that she was enjoying herself more and more. Perhaps more importantly, as forks clattered to the table and children began to play in the adjacent rooms, she could recognize the smile on her face and the tenor of her own voice as it spoke to others. For the first time in months, she felt like herself.

After Mabel had cleared the plates and returned to her seat next to Abraham, the room was filled with quieter, adult conversation carried along by scratchy music coming from the small radio. They sipped their coffee as they discussed the state of the town and employment, until Abraham cleared his throat and looked toward the parlor, where the children sat gathered near his grandmother’s feet. Satisfied that they were too engrossed in her story to hear him, he turned back to his guests.

“Now as I told Antoine, getting Violette enrolled at the schoolhouse shouldn't be any problem. There’s only a handful a’ black children in town, and most of their families been here too long for any efforts at segregation. Luckily this town’s got a long history of safe harbor since before the war, back when my granddad settled here, and barring any Texan influx it should stay that way. But with that new road running through town and the price of our crops tanking, you’ve got to forgive myself and anyone else for the cold welcome you might have gotten these last months.”

He paused for a moment to look at the photo over his shoulder before his eyes settled back on Antoine, “But I’m no stranger to the rest of this country. Neither me nor Mabel. I know what you must have dealt with down there, and we’ve got to stick together. You’ll make it here, all of you. I’ll try and make sure of it.”

His tone was imbued with such a warm note of certainty, brighter and more steady than anything any of them had heard since they arrived, that each one of them actually believed it, even Josephine.

#1931 #sims 4 historical #ts4 decades challenge #ts4 historical #sims 4 decades challenge #the darlingtons #sims 4 legacy #ts4 legacy #sims 4 story #ts4 story #1930s #Zelda darlington #Antoine Duplanchier #Josephine Duplanchier #Giorgio Mistretta #Violette darlington #Abraham Hines #William Hines

[aheathen-conceivably]

Josephine was sitting at the vanity table that Giorgio had restored for her, tracing her hand along the same wood grain that she had when she arrived over two years before. Only her nails weren’t painted any longer; they were bare and chipped, fingers permanently raw from hours of soaking and scrubbing.

She was staring at them intently, like their presence alone was enough to make her feel like she was a different woman than who she thought she had been her whole life. Out of the corner of his eye Giorgio could see that she was lost in thought, a small downturned frown playing on her lips. He barely had time to register just how unlike herself she seemed before she blurted out, “Do you ever think about having children?”

Gio nearly choked on the cigarette he had just lit. There were certain things he had given up on when he fell in love with her, things that he now told himself were for the best. He looked up at her suspiciously, now wary of the traps he knew she could set. The lost look in her eyes was vacillating with something that looked like what, suspicion? Like she didn’t trust him to answer correctly despite his years of acquiescence on the topic.

But as she addressed him through the warped glass, he got the impression that she wasn't actually speaking to him at all, “It would be stupid, you know that, right? Violette would hate it. She could learn to share, I know. But something tells me she wouldn’t. She would only get worse.”

Then she turned to look him dead in the eyes, and he realized he had been right. She was challenging him, even though he had only recently told her that he didn’t mind her near militant precautions against pregnancy any more now than he had in New Orleans. As she spoke her resolve became more palpable and the uncharacteristic insecurity that had been there moments before was replaced by something he was more familiar with: anger. “And Jesus Christ we can barely feed ourselves as it is. It would be stupid. Absolutely stupid. Why would anyone ever think otherwise? It’s a horrible, horrible idea.”

As she finished speaking she continued to stare straight at him, and he had to look away to escape the intensity of her eyes. It was nothing that he didn’t know; she had told him from day one that she would never have children, not for any love in the world. He had been young enough then to want nothing other than her, and over time his feelings had morphed into hers. It was never a dream he had, and it wasn’t as though he had a name he was proud to pass on. He had come here to hide from it, and it had done nothing but convince him that he would have no more sons to pass the name or the horrors onto. 

As he gathered himself to look at her, his eyes cut through the tension that hung in the air like cigarette smoke. Because he had said it all a dozen times before, and that look was all she needed to know that he agreed; not just with her logic, but even to her aversion of having your life taken from you in that way, so that your dreams and your choices were no longer for yourself anymore. They would always have to be made in adherence to someone else, and they could barely do that for each other, much less a child.

He put his lit cigarette in the ashtray the moment she stood to walk nearer. Up close, the challenge in her eyes transformed into something like relief, like she had sated a fear that for however much he might ask her to give, at least he would never ask for that. Or maybe, unbeknowst to him, she had just talked herself off a ledge that he would never know had been an option at all.

She placed her hands on his shoulders, bringing one knee onto the bed beside him and the other one between his legs. His breath caught in his throat as his body responded to the movement, “Are you…sure? I thought we still couldn’t. I — I lost count of the days.”

Her voice took on a soft note of mockery, exactly the way it did when she knew more than the other person, “As you always do.”

He took that to mean that they were once again free to do as they pleased for a few weeks, before the cycle of counting and caution began all over again. Yet even after all this time those days in the center of the month went by the slowest, so he immediately hooked his hand around her hips to pull her down on top of him.

She left one foot on the ground as she gave into his weight, letting him move her robe aside and bring his hands to her thighs. All the while she was sure to remain balanced on the tip of her foot, keeping herself from giving in completely even as she climbed far enough atop of him to let him think that it was fully off the ground.

Then she leaned back onto it, leaving him stranded on the bed as she moved her hand off of his neck, down his shirt front, and just above the button of his pants. She took it between her fingers and kept her eyes on his, silently telling him that she could unhook it without ever looking down, “But I never do; and I don’t make mistakes. So not until I say so, my love. Then, and only then.”

As his smile faded, she trailed her hand back up his shirtfront to his chin, letting it linger on his lips before she bent down to kiss him. He knew better now than to try and pull her down again, or even to bring his hands to her hips as they hovered above him. She moved away and looked down into his eyes as though to say, good boy. Then she walked away back to her well-worn seat at the vanity, leaving him with nothing but his half smoked cigarette and unspent longing.

#1932 #sims 4 historical #ts4 decades challenge #ts4 historical #sims 4 decades challenge #the darlingtons #sims 4 legacy #ts4 legacy #sims 4 story #ts4 story #1930s #Josephine Duplanchier #Giorgio Mistretta #sim spice

[aheathen-conceivably]

🎶 She’s my sun, she makes me shine, like diamonds 🎶

I've seen the world, lit it up as my stage now Channeling angels in the new age now Hot summer days, rock and roll The way you'd play for me at your show And all the ways I got to know Your pretty face and electric soul

Dear Lord, when I get to Heaven Please let me bring my man When he comes, tell me that you'll let him in Father, tell me if you can All that grace, all that body All that face makes me wanna party

Will you still love me when I'm no longer young and beautiful? Will you still love me when I got nothing but my aching soul? I know you will, I know you will, I know that you will

Will you still love me when I'm no longer beautiful? Will you still love me when I'm not young and beautiful?

I do.

(My immense gratitude to @vintagesimstress who is and perhaps has always been Zelda’s biggest fan. She made this wedding dress especially for her and waited patiently while I strung you all along for this very moment. This scene would not be nearly as beautiful without it, and I cannot thank you enough ♥️)

#ahem…how did that dust get in my eye #1930 #sims 4 historical #ts4 historical #ts4 decades challenge #sims 4 decades challenge #sims 4 legacy #ts4 legacy #sims 4 story #ts4 story #the darlingtons #1930s #zelda darlington #antoine duplanchier #violette darlington #josephine duplanchier #giorgio mistretta

[aheathen-conceivably]

At first, Josephine had tried the best she knew how; but she swiftly realized that she knew nothing of this life. Zelda and Giorgio spent nearly every moment from sun-up to sun down tilling, planting and attempting to harness water. They had tried to explain the basics of their attempts, but any time she tried to help she could see that they spent more time guiding her than actually working, and the moment she got out of their way their work went noticeably faster.

Yet it wasn’t just farming. Everything about this life was more difficult than she could have imagined, beyond anything her mother and her life had ever prepared her for. Foodstuffs only came in the most basic ingredients, electricity was sparse when it worked at all, and they were in a constant struggle to conserve water and fend off drought.

She felt like everything she did was in someone’s way, or that it would need to be redone by someone else as soon as she finished; even worse, she often found that she had no idea where to begin, and she would have to ask Zelda and Giorgio for help, taking them away from their work as their words of guidance began to sound more and more belittling to her ears.

So she decided that she couldn’t stay on the farm any longer, pretending to be something that she wasn’t and muddying everyone else’s attempts to make their lives better. She had to do something to contribute, to make herself feel worthwhile and valuable again. 

As she put on her clothes from New Orleans and her mother’s jewelry she could feel herself coming alive again, settling into the trappings that made her feel like who she was, and who she wanted to be. She would find something, anything that would make her fit in in this foreign place.

But her attempts didn’t last long. She walked the streets to whispers, some of them about their own doomed situations, others about the well dressed stranger who had the gall to walk their town rouged and powdered. A city slicker, a foreigner, a threat in turbulent times.

I read about girls like that. In town from the route to peddle themselves and move on, can you believe it? It’s a shame, really, but I mean look at her, what else would you expect?

She would try to smile at them, to form some sort of social circle, some beneficial connections like those she had known in New Orleans, but then their sneers only intensified and made it clear that no amount of charm would make her welcome among them. 

Again and again, they turned down her friendliness, they whispered about her in front of her face. Only she wished that was all, she wished that it was only about her. It was nothing that she hadn’t heard before, nothing that hadn’t been whispered about her back in New Orleans. No, it was the whispers that had nothing to do with her that hurt the most.

I simply don’t know how we’re going to feed the children. Then with another one on the way. We’re doomed, truly. I don’t know what to do. 

My sister lost her farm, up in Oklahoma. Her husband said he was off to California for work but it’s been months. I told her he isn’t coming home but she’ll starve if he doesn’t.

You should have seen them, sick like it was tuberculosis, but no, it’s the dust. It will kill them, I’m sure of it, in their lungs that way. But it’s death there or death in California. What of it? What can we do?

Whispers. More whispers. The intel that she didn’t want, the information she had most feared. For years she had scoffed at Giorgio’s predictions. I’m telling you, Jo. My father’s even moving the business. It’s going to be ugly. We have to do something, anything. We need a plan. 

Nonsense. There was too much fun to be had, too much music and too much life. But now she didn’t even need to hear the whispers to know it had come true. The line of beggars and unemployed seemed endless, and as she walked by them she realized that she was but a few steps from where they were. Because the whispers were right, she was a fallen woman, one of many who now hovered around the shopfronts like ghosts. Women with no skills other than their smiles and their charms, women doomed to repeat their pasts as the world crumbled around them.

She knew that they were right, the whispers. She didn’t belong here, and she never would. But there was nowhere left to go.

#1930 #sims 4 historical #ts4 historical #ts4 decades challenge #sims 4 decades challenge #sims 4 legacy #ts4 legacy #sims 4 story #the darlingtons #1930s #josephine duplanchier #zelda darlington #giorgio mistretta

[aheathen-conceivably]

There came a day when Josephine couldn’t try any longer. She couldn’t bear to smile or socialize while insults were thrown in her face, or try to stay out of the way while she became more and more useless to people who had once relied on her. The idea of trying, only to be defeated or scolded or ignored, became an insurmountable task, one laden with her absolute lack of independence in this place where she relied on everyone else to teach her anything. 

Even her clothes, the apron and her dirt stained hands, obscured who she thought she was. She no longer recognized her own life; her goals and her plans had been subsumed in the dry, desperate air around her until she felt like a husk of who she had once been. The woman in the mirror was someone else entirely, someone with no utility, a bother to those around her, a failure without a future.

So one morning instead of rising and doing it all again, of trying and trying until she was faced with the possibility that she was the failure, Josephine simply stopped trying. Her legs seemed unwilling to move, to hold her weight atop the roughened floorboards, and for the first time in her life she gave into the inertia. Giorgio asked no questions other than if he could do anything for her, so as soon as he left she rolled onto her side to watch the shadows grow longer, forgetting who she was or how she had gotten to this strange and foreign place at all. 

As the hours passed the shadows moved and desert sunbeams shielded her from life outside the windows: from the beggars on the street, from her own fear of giving into her past, from the people she loved most, and even from Violette, who she knew would never forget seeing her in such a broken state. She hid away until weeks became months and the vast majority of her hours were spent sleeping, or flitting between bouts of sleep as she spiraled deeper into a hole that she had never intended on falling into at all.

Josephine woke to the sound of the front door of the cabin; from one glance at the sunbeams she knew it was somewhere near sunset. That sound meant that she needed to open her eyes, that Zelda could soon appear at the door, her voice soft as she offered pleasant platitudes and flitted hands in an attempt to lift her spirits. But the approaching footsteps were too heavy for that, which meant that she would either have to rouse herself to look up at her brother, making some excuse to come to their cabin but clearly just there to check on her, or even worse, Giorgio. 

When she had first taken to bed he had spent nearly every spare second with her. He had even carried the radio into the room, attempting to play it and tell her stories before besieging her to come outside, or bringing an endless bounty of flowers picked from the desert sands. But more and more regularly, his footsteps would go straight to the kitchen to pour a cup of moonshine. That day, she hoped it would be the latter.

Instead the steps grew closer and the door opened, revealing Giorgio’s dirt stained face. Jo stared at him for a moment, wondering if the lines she could see now had always been there, or if they had grown more drawn in the desert air. She did know that the stubble was new, and it made him seem like a different man. It matched the overalls and ripped pants he always wore now, so different from the fedoras and pinstripes she had once associated with him. 

He looked like a stranger, the same way that the room often spun and distorted until she no longer recognized it. Then the sun would sink below the red rocks and the shadows disappeared, suddenly throwing the entire space into darkness and she could truly forget who she was, who this bearded stranger who now slept on the couch and avoided her presence could possibly be.  

Giorgio opened his mouth to speak and a look of guilt stricken agony crossed his face. Josephine met his eyes numbly, bracing herself for what seemed like remorseful admittance. Then he seemingly thought better of it and turned around, closing the door and retreating back down the hallway as he realized that the moonshine was the better option after all.

#1930 #sims 4 historical #ts4 historical #ts4 decades challenge #sims 4 decades challenge #sims 4 legacy #ts4 legacy #sims 4 story #ts4 story #the darlingtons #1930s #gif warning #josephine duplanchier #giorgio mistretta

[aheathen-conceivably]

The wedding portraits of Mr. and Mrs. Antoine Duplanchier, taken immediately after their arrival in New Mexico in January, 1930 alongside Josephine Duplanchier, Giorgio Mistretta, and the newlyweds' daughter Violette Darlington.

#1930 #sims 4 historical #ts4 historical #ts4 decades challenge #sims 4 decades challenge #sims 4 legacy #ts4 legacy #sims 4 story #ts4 story #the darlingtons #1930s #family portrait #antoine duplanchier #zelda darlington #violette darlington #josephine duplanchier #giorgio mistretta

[aheathen-conceivably]

As 1932 drew to a close, the small crop field nestled amongst Strangerville’s orange hills flourished until almost every plant was ready to harvest. After years of effort, they burst to life with something even more precious to Giorgio than the riches he thought this land would bring him, because it meant everything he had believed and invested in hadn’t failed. He hadn’t failed, and for now that was worth more than the money he had hoped this harvest would bring them.

Because even with the bounty they had managed to coax from the sandy soil, attempting to sell it was near pointless, as crop prices had all but bottomed out while food costs skyrocketed. Everything they picked was more valuable on their own shelves, so for weeks on end Josephine and Zelda stood in the kitchen drying and canning anything they possibly could. 

Zelda wracked her brain for every trick her mother had taught her or poured through every book Mabel had loaned her. All the while Josephine attempted to get a handle on even the basics of preserving food, trying to follow what Zelda did without feeling like she was falling into the trap of uselessness that had nearly broken her the first time. There was so much to do that Jo thought Zelda never noticed, and she was immensely thankful as she struggled to keep up.

Only it was impossible not to notice Josephine’s heavy sighs, no matter how well she thought she was hiding them. Especially when the only distractions from their work were idle chatter and the occasional appearance of Giorgio as he sought shelter from the heat during the long hours of uprooting the spent stalks in the field.

Zelda was always glad to hear his footsteps on the porch, even if they did momentarily fool her into thinking that Antoine had returned home early. Gio’s presence seemed to immediately alleviate Josephine’s frustrations, and in turn Zelda’s guilt that she continued to struggle with this life.

But gradually, seeing them together became harder for Zelda as she grew more aware that they were the couple who had eachother at all hours of the day and night. Meanwhile she spent her days working alongside Gio as her own husband and daughter increasingly found themselves away from home, and she more frequently alone.

Until finally, when the last of the beans had been shelled and the final ear of corn ground into flour, Zelda’s resilience ran out. Her hands were sore and her mind just beginning to process that what they had all worked toward for years was now complete. It meant they would have to start all over again; the soil would have to be mended and tilled once again, the crops replanted, the water regathered, and then she would have to keep trying and trying and trying…

Josephine noticed the look on her face, and knew that her friend was lost in her own thoughts. So much so that she didn’t even notice Jo looking at her intently, watching her eyes as they fixated on the jars in front of her. She was staring at them like she had poured her very soul directly into their contents, only to realize that they were nothing but jars after all. She looked so depleted, that Josephine understood she had been wrong all along. Life here wasn’t as effortless for Zelda as her envious eyes had led her to believe; and that maybe, in giving so much to this life, she had lost part of herself too.

Jo slipped out the door without Zelda even noticing, only to return minutes later with a repurposed bottle full of clear liquor in her hand. She shut the door behind her loudly enough to ensure that Zelda would hear, and then unscrewed the cap and set the bottle on the table, hoping the smell alone was enough to bring her out of her melancholy reverie.

Zelda looked up at Jo before jumping to her feet, “Is that-is that what I think it is?”

A mischievous grin spread across Jo’s face before she shrugged her shoulders, “Gio has his sources.”

It had been a long time since either of them had drank like that, much less something so strong. At the first sip of moonshine out of a kitchen mug, both of them had wrinkled their noses and held their breath. Zelda had coughed profusely. But like most things at over 100 proof alcohol, each sip burned less and less, so that by the time Antoine and Violette returned home, they stayed outside with Giorgio playing around the fire and assembling corn husks into dolls, leaving the increasingly intoxicated women inside the house to laugh and talk to their heart’s content.

Only the more they drank the more Zelda couldn’t hold back the question that had been on her mind for months, filling it with guilt every time she saw Josephine struggle. But slurred and emboldened by the liquor she couldn’t even taste anymore, she felt it come to her lips before her mind even registered it, “You’re happy here, right?”

Fuck. Maybe she could blame it on the moonshine once Antoine found out. Once Gio knew. She had asked her mid sip, and Jo seemed to keep the cup raised to her lips for a moment longer than necessary before she lowered it back down and looked away, “I..I think — I’m happier, at least. I’m trying…”

Zelda sloshed what little liquid was left at the bottom of her cup, the alarm bells in her head numbed by the buzzing sound that had settled there since her fifth sip, “You know that, that if it’s ever — if you’re ever unhappy here, I’ll support you no matter what you do, right, Jo?”

Josephine returned her looked curiously and Zelda’s heart sank. Did her eyes look sober? Angry? Had she said too much and ruined all of their lives? Over and over again she and Antoine had talked about it, how to let Jo know that they were there with her, for her, without her finding out they were keeping Giorgio’s secret; because Zelda knew just as well as Antoine did that she was likely to view all three of them as her betrayers, and so it was even more likely that she would run now than if they had just told her from the beginning.

Then if she ran, there was no way to guarantee that Gio wouldn’t blame them, or that Antoine wouldn't insist on leaving with his sister. Then where did that leave any of them, especially her daughter who had only just learned to call this place home?

But the moonshine seemed to work in Zelda’s favor, and Jo’s curious expression broke into a smile and a small disarming laugh, “Of course, silly. As I would for you. You’re my sister, after all.”

Jo reached her hand across the couch, swaying slightly amidst the flowery patterns beginning to spin before taking yet another sip of moonshine. Zelda reached forward to take her extended hand in her own, the warm touch doing little to allay her own guilt, “My sister.”

#1932 #sims 4 historical #ts4 decades challenge #ts4 historical #sims 4 decades challenge #the darlingtons #sims 4 legacy #ts4 legacy #sims 4 story #ts4 story #1930s #Zelda darlington #Josephine Duplanchier #Giorgio Mistretta #Antoine Duplanchier #Violette darlington

[aheathen-conceivably]

As Zelda and Antoine left the courthouse, a sort of giddy freedom permeated the air. They had traveled thousands of miles to do what they had done in mere hours. Now, before their time in New Mexico had really even begun, they had done that which they wanted most.

In the plaza facing the courthouse Giorgio stopped them, fishing a key out of his pocket and handing it to Antoine, “This one is yours, old sport. Keep it safe. This town ain’t got much but it’s enough to show off to Violette here, if she’d like. What’s say Jo and I take her around while you two get settled in?”

With a smile Antoine looked toward Zelda, who in turn glanced at Gio with a thankful nod. It was far from the honeymoon of their dreams, but it was at least a moment of respite and solitude for the two of them after weeks of train travel and moving preparations.

Gio pointed toward the edge of town, giving them directions on how to reach the house by foot. “But before you head off that way you should know when I first moved here I stayed up in the main house. It got a bit lonely though, as big as it is, so I set up in the cabin across the yard. Jo and I will be staying there. The big house is for you and Violette.”

Antoine opened his mouth to protest but Gio waved him off, instead looking down at Violette, “It only makes sense with three of y’all versus the two of us. Now Miss Violette, are we ready to see the one and only dress shop in town?”

She shook her head readily and the three of them strode off, Violette turning to wave to her parents one final time as though she were loath to leave them even for a minute.

Together Antoine and Zelda followed the directions that Gio had given them: across town, past the train depot, and alongside the new road until it turned onto a bridge. At the bend stood the house that he described: an 1890s farmhouse nestled between the edge of town and the towering orange rocks. From afar, they seemed to wrap the old house in a sheltered cocoon of the harsh landscape it sat amongst.

It was larger than either of them had expected, and from a distance the rippling sunshine worked to disguise the overgrown weeds and peeling paint. Zelda turned toward Antoine and lifted her eyebrows. He met her shocked expression with a large smile and they drew closer to the house, by that point too happy with each other to notice the dilapidation.

As they mounted the steps, the porch creaked loudly, as though protesting the new arrivals and their well shined shoes. Antoine paused in front of the door and Zelda stopped, looking at him worriedly for a moment. He lifted her hand to his lips and then bent to wrap his arms around her and lift her off of the worn wood porch.

Her words were nearly drowned out by her laughter, “Are you quite serious? After all this time you prove this old fashioned?”

He trailed his lips down her neck as he balanced her weight in his arms and unlocked the door, “Why of course, Mrs. Duplanchier. It’s only fitting a husband should carry his wife over the threshold for the very first time.”

Zelda pushed the door open with a heeled shoe and Antoine stepped into their new home, both far too distracted to notice anything about it other than each other.

#1930 #sims 4 historical #ts4 historical #ts4 decades challenge #sims 4 decades challenge #sims 4 legacy #ts4 legacy #sims 4 story #ts4 story #the darlingtons #1930s #zelda darlington #antoine duplanchier #violette darlington #josephine duplanchier #giorgio mistretta

[aheathen-conceivably]

The train doors opened to a shabby rail station surrounded by towering orange monoliths. A foreign warmth pervaded the air; cooler than that of New Orleans, but free of the heavy weight of humidity that the Duplanchiers had known all their lives. 

In the distance was a small town center, gradually built up over time from its origins as an outpost in the days of the Wild West. Now both a railway and a newly built highway ran near its perimeter, separating its rows of brick facades from the surrounding desert. Although still rarely used, the newly coined Route 66 had already begun to draw newcomers to the town, including the man they had traveled thousands of miles to meet.

None of them had to search very far to find him. The town’s small train station was practically empty, and the patterned fabric of his new suit stood out even amongst the few people who were there. It had been two years since any of them had seen Giorgio Mistretta, but no one had waited longer for that moment than Josephine. 

As soon as she caught sight of him, Jo ran toward him, ignoring the stares of townspeople as she jumped into his arms and let her worries from the last month melt away into the empty desert sky. He lifted her from the ground, spinning her around as though the rest of the world ceased to exist and they had never been happier.

After a moment, Gio caught sight of Antoine and Zelda. He left his arm around Jo but set her down gently onto the ground, the quiet click of her heels on the splintered floorboards barely bringing her back to reality. As she stared up at him, he turned his attention to the other new arrivals.

His hair had grown longer and his cheeks tanned by the sun, but the smile on his face was as warm as it had always been, “Well look at you two! Now I understand why you wrote to tell me to come dressed in my finest. I suppose y’all want to know the fastest way to the courthouse, don’t y’all?”

Giorgio led them through the old station, where their extravagant dress drew more than a few stares, to the exit that faced the town center. At the very pinnacle of it stood Strangerville’s original courthouse. Built on the promise of gold and free land, it stood tall and proud amidst shuttered buildings and dilapidated shotgun houses that had been weathered by the years.

In that moment, it was perhaps the most beautiful thing Antoine or Zelda had ever seen. They slowed their steps, as though the weight of their path there had suddenly become apparent to them both. Violette turned around impatiently, the promise of her very own parent’s wedding more exciting than she could possibly bear.

With a final glance toward each other, Zelda and Antoine shed their last vestiges of reserve and ran across the street like children. Josephine and Giorgio walked behind with Violette, trying their best to keep up but making no effort to slow their steps; they knew that they had waited almost a decade for this very moment, and any minute longer would be too much.

#1930 #sims 4 historical #ts4 historical #sims 4 decades challenge #ts4 decades challenge #sims 4 legacy #ts4 legacy #sims 4 story #ts4 story #the darlingtons #1930s #josephine duplanchier #giorgio mistretta #antoine duplanchier #zelda darlington #violette darlington

[aheathen-conceivably]

🎶 Don't you know too much already? I'll only hurt you if you let me 🎶

Giorgio stood in the doorway, watching Josephine unbuckle the bows of her red shoes. There was nothing in life that brought him more joy than seeing her in front of him. She had walked these floors for months, treading on them like a shadow; but it had been as though her footfall made no sound, her face a mask of mere existence rather than life. But now, there she stood, so vivid and alive that he had hope she might be able to be herself again, both for her sake and his own.

When he had written to Antoine, he had never dreamed this place would plunge her into such a state; truthfully he hadn’t even comprehended the depth of his deception. Antoine’s letter had caught him in his own state of immense depression, his failed efforts and isolation sinking him so deep into a hole that he hadn’t seen a way out. Then the letter, like a blinding flash of light that they could be here, that perhaps it would all work out, and he wouldn’t be alone. So he had written back. Must find work. Perhaps he had hoped that it would be enough of a warning. Perhaps he hoped it wouldn’t. 

But for every stifled apology, he had told himself that admittance would only serve to take the blame off of his guilty conscience. It was the price to pay for his sin, and confession would do no more than further wound her when she was already so broken. Looking at her now, he told himself that the truth would ruin her tenuous reemergence. Then she would slip back, and he would slip back; then maybe they would all slip away, and he’d have nothing again. He’d wake to find her gone, and now she was here, standing in front of him the way he’d imagined every night they were apart.

So he stifled another apologetic admittance, this time telling himself that it would be his last, and walked toward her.

For the first time in months, she leaned toward him, a movement both of them immediately registered as unspoken longing. Still, she kept her hand on the bow of her shoe and spoke without turning around, “Quite an improvement to how I must have looked all these months, isn’t it?”

He ran his hand up her leg toward her hand, which felt as though it had been waiting there for exactly that, “Jo, you are wonderful to me, always. I don’t care what it is you look like as long as you’re here, as long as you’re happy. I just want you to be happy, okay? I just want to be able to take care of you.”

He had responded so quickly that he hadn't even thought to carefully select his words the way he usually did. Part of him panicked, expecting her to pull away in protest. Instead she stayed locked in his arms, the anticipated rebuff coming in the form of a derisive sigh and retort, “I can take care of myself just fine, Gio.”

In another life, in another city, her words would have stung. But they were filled with a self aware strength and half hearted mockery that Giorgio hadn’t heard in months; so instead they made him smile. “I know you can, mi raccomando, I know; but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to, to make sure you have the best life I can give you. I just want you to be happy, Josephine. I promise you.”

Finally she turned toward him, angling her face downward and keeping her eyes closed so that she wouldn't have to meet his eyes, “I know. I…I do too. I don’t want to fall back into that hole. I want to be happy here, with you. I’ll try, I promise. I’ll try as much as I can. I have to, for myself, for Lottie.”

He wrapped his arms around her and spoke into the narrowing space between them, “That’s all I can ask you to do.”

#1931 #sims 4 historical #ts4 decades challenge #ts4 historical #sims 4 decades challenge #the darlingtons #sims 4 legacy #ts4 legacy #sims 4 story #ts4 story #1930s #Josephine Duplanchier #Giorgio Mistretta